


Call of Solitude

by Snow Eaglewings (Kedvamp)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alone in the forest, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Black Hermione Granger, Blaise Zabini Knows Everything, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Draco Malfoy is Clueless About Muggle Things, Draco and Hermione stuck alone for several weeks, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Legilimens Draco Malfoy, Legilimens Theodore Nott, Lesbian Pansy Parkinson, Luna Lovegood is Smarter Than She Looks, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Minor Luna Lovegood/Blaise Zabini, Minor Pansy Parkinson/Daphne Greengrass, Multi, Mutual Pining, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, POV Hermione Granger, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-08 19:18:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16435304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kedvamp/pseuds/Snow%20Eaglewings
Summary: The skirmish at Malfoy Manor goes a little differently...Draco Malfoy knew that it might come to this, and he is always prepared for every possibility. Along with Theodore Nott, another young man forced by his father to take the mark, and Pansy Parkinson, the daughter of a Deatheater forced to do unspeakable things to please the Dark Lord's followers, he devises a plan to keep the Dark Lord from what he wants most: Harry Potter.But nothing ever goes according to plan, and now Draco and Hermione are stranded with no wands and no contact with Theo and Pansy, or Harry and Ron. Their only hope is to reach the safe house by the end of the week, or risk being caught, defenseless, by Snatchers or Deatheaters. And with Draco now being a traitor to the Dark Lord, and Hermione considered Undesirable Number Two, it's going to be even harder for them to survive with no resources at their disposal. Not to mention the building tension between them...





	1. A Plan Gone Awry

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously, I do not own Harry Potter. Everything, excluding the plot, belongs to J.K. Rowling.

Hermione Granger couldn't remember ever being so terrified.

The last two hours had been nothing but a blur: Harry triggering the taboo, casting the stinging hex, the Snatchers, being brought to Malfoy Manor along with Dean Thomas and a goblin, of all people. She felt like she was watching everything through opaque glass, her mind not fully processing the movement or sound that was directly in front of her. There were too many people in the room; a half-dozen Snatchers, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, Fenrir Greyback, Bellatrix Lestrange, all intending to do terrible things to her as soon as they were given the chance. And yet only one person in the room had caught her attention.

He was standing a little ways away from everyone else, his back to the room as he stared into the fireplace. She hadn't seen him in almost a year. He'd grown even paler, which she hadn't believed possible, and while his face looked drawn, his muscles seemed coiled beneath his clothing in a way that suggested he was anticipating having to move quickly. In fact, he looked like he was anticipating a blow from someone in the room, though it wasn't clear who would actually deliver it. He had done such a good job of making himself inconspicuous near fireplace that Hermione suspected he wouldn't even had drawn her attention if it hadn't been for what he just said.

Why would Draco Malfoy be reluctant to identify Harry Potter and his friends? From everything she had ever witnessed, he was an opportunist- he did everything in his power to further his influence, his prestige, and what better way to gain favor with the Dark Lord than to deliver his most desired enemy? The young Malfoy had never displayed anything short of contempt for Harry, and certainly nothing but loathing for her and Ron. Why hadn't he told his aunt, point blank, that it was Harry Potter she was holding by the hair? Hermione had seen the flair of recognition in his eyes, even as he did everything in his power to not meet Harry's eyes or look at him too closely. He had even been hesitant in positively identifying her and Ron, when she would have thought he would have gleefully handed them over to be tortured and killed at his aunt's hands.

Lucius and Bellatrix were yelling, arguing over who would call the Dark Lord, while Narcissa carefully made her way over to stand near her son, who bent his head toward her. She couldn't hear him, but Hermione saw his lips moving rapidly, and his mother's face freeze up in a look of forced calm. Narcissa whispered something to him sharply, looking up at him, but he wouldn't meet her eyes as he shook his head carefully, once. With her lips pressed tight together, she took his hand and squeezed hard before letting him go and taking a step away.

Bellatrix's screaming broke through the haze in Hermione's brain. "Stop!" she was shrieking. "Do not touch it, we shall all perish if the Dark Lord comes now!"

Lucius had frozen, his finger poised over his exposed forearm, where the Dark Mark stood in stark contrast to his nearly translucent skin. Hermione followed Bellatrix's eyes to the Snatcher that was holding the Sword of Gryffindor, and her blood ran cold. She knew without even having to look at Bellatrix's face again that the woman was more livid that anything she'd ever seen, and things were about to get very, very ugly.

With frightening ease, Bellatrix stunned four snatchers and forced Fenrir Greyback to his knees, who snarled dangerously at the mad witch as she stalked closer to him. "Where did you get this sword?" she whispered, yanking his wand away.

"How dare you?" It was difficult to make out words among the deep, near-constant growling. "Release me, woman!"

"Where did you find the sword?" she asked again, her voice rising an octave as she waved the sword in his face. "Snape sent it to my vault in Gringotts!"

"It was in their tent," Greyback rasped. "Now release me, I say!"

Bellatrix released Greyback with a wave of her wand, turning her back on him in a clear dismissal. He didn't seem inclined to retaliate, though, instead stalking across the room and behind an armchair, clutching the back in his filthy hands.

"Draco, move this scum outside," Bellatrix motioned to the unconscious Snatchers on the floor. "If you haven't got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me."

"Don't you dare speak to Draco like-" Narcissa began furiously, but Hermione tuned them out as she met the grey eyes of the boy who had once been her schoolmate. He didn't hesitate in levitating the bodies off the floor, but didn't look away from her, even as he directed them toward the door. His expression gave nothing away, but something in his eyes that Hermione couldn't identify sparked a feeling of trepidation deep in her chest. Something was going to happen. He didn't break eye contact until he was past her and out the room, and only then did she realize that she had been holding her breath.

Bellatrix was ordering they be placed in the cellar. Narcissa Malfoy looked furious, but addressed Greyback as though she had no choice but to follow her sister's whims.

"Take the prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback."

"Wait," Bellatrix said sharply. "All except...except for the Mudblood."

Hermione closed her eyes as Ron began to shout, and then abruptly stopped when he was struck across the face. She opened her eyes when she heard the click of Bellatrix's heels, and watched as the witch pulled out a wicked, silver knife from her robes. She used it to cut Hermione away from the others before dragging her into the center of the room by her hair, and she watched in despair as Ron and Harry, along with Dean and the goblin were pulled from the room.

She stood opposite Bellatrix, looking at the floor as she waited with dread at whatever was about to happen. She felt the cool air through the tears in her clothing, and her cheek stung slightly from where one of the Snatchers had hit her. There was dirt under her nails from when she had clawed at Greyback, trying to keep him away from Ron, and her hair was matted at the back of her skull from the struggle on the forest floor. Despite all of this, she didn't cower, keeping her shoulders tense and her hands balled into fists at her sides. Mentally, she was preparing for the worst; she knew that, no matter what happened to her next, the most important thing was keeping Harry safe until he found a way out of this mess. If that meant stalling with her life as long as possible, she would do so, and would make sure she revealed no information no matter what the crazy bitch did to her.

"You have one chance, Mudblood, to tell me the truth," Bellatrix hissed, wand inches from Hermione's nose, knife brandished in her other hand. "How did you get that sword? How did you break into my vault?"

"We didn't-"

Blinding white light filled her vision, and she barely felt the impact of her body hitting the floor as she was engulfed in the worst pain she'd ever felt. She knew she was screaming, but couldn't hear the noise; nothing existed but the agony. Like an animal, she clawed at her temples, her hair, trying to tear the pain out of her skull even as she tried to keep her mental faculties about her. She knew this kind of pain, if it went on long enough, could drive her mad. She had to hang on to sanity, onto the knowledge that she was saving Harry, for as long as possible. It didn't matter what kind of pain she was in, or what Bellatrix or Greyback or anybody did to her body- all that mattered was keeping Harry alive.

The pain stopped abruptly, and Hermione choked on the blood in her mouth- she'd bitten her tongue. Bellatrix was on top of her, straddling her waist, and she held the knife over Hermione's now outstretched left arm.

"I'm going to ask you again!" Bellatrix yelled, spittle flying from her mouth. "Where did you get this sword? _Where_?"

"We found it- we found it- PLEASE!" Hermione began to scream again as Bellatrix cut into her arm, pain spreading through the limb like fiendfyre. She was sobbing now, gasping for air, and her back bowed off the floor as Bellatrix cast again, despite being preoccupied with the knife. She knew, dimly, that Bellatrix was carving a word, something specific, but she didn't know- couldn't think-

"CRUCIO! Tell me where you got the sword, Mudblood, _tell me_ -"

She must have lost consciousness, because the next thing she knew she was along on the floor, covering in broken glass. Her face, chest, and hands stung with dozens of tiny lacerations, and her arm still burned so strongly she abruptly let out an involuntary, broken whimper. Her vision was blurry with blood and tears, and she felt so heavy she didn't think she could move even if she wanted to. Dimly, she realized that the room had devolved into chaos, the chandelier in a heap only a few feet from her head and people crowding the room.

There was pandemonium around her, curses flying and horrific shouting. She caught a flash of platinum hair in her peripheral vision and suddenly she was being hauled up against a broad chest by her good arm, and the _crack!_ of disapparation filled her ears before everything went black.

 

***

 

She woke blearily to a barely-risen sun, the tops of trees and a still-dark sky filling her vision. She was quiet and numb a moment, blinking slowly, before she was suddenly hit once again with all the pain her body was experiencing and she attempted to double over on herself, whimpering and starting to cry again.

"Careful, Granger, careful- I'm trying my best here but you've got to stay still."

Hermione startled so badly she flinched violently, and the darkness nearly overtook her again at the pain it caused in her abused body and burning arm. She swayed dangerously, eyelids fluttering, but before she could fall a set of arms pulled her against a decidedly male body to steady her.

"Easy, there. You'll be no good to me unconscious."

Hermione looked up slowly into the face of Draco Malfoy, her hands curling into claws around his forearm as she realized just who she was leaning against. He winced, but clearly anticipating her next move, he didn't let go of her, instead holding her tighter as she started to flail.

"Let go of me, Malfoy, you vile, disgusting, _Deatheater scum_ -"

He clapped a hand over her mouth and forced her to look at him, his face suddenly cold with deadly fury. She felt his fingers pressing painfully into a cut on her jaw, but refused to wince even when his grip tightened ever so slightly at the murderous look in her own eyes. He still had one arm wrapped around her torso, pining her arms to her sides, and he had wrapped his own legs around hers to keep her mostly still. The product of this was that she was pressed entirely too closely along the entire length of his body, and her cheeks flushed with righteous anger just as he seemed to realize their position as well, his face breaking into a cruel smirk.

"Now, Granger, that's no way to speak to the man who saved your life," he mocked, tightening his hand on her jaw again when she tried to toss her head out of his grip. "In fact, I think a thank you is in order."

"A _thank you_?" she sputtered incredulously, her voice muffled by his hand. "How dare you, you absolute urchin! If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have needed someone to save my life in the first place! And just what, exactly, are you planning to do with me now that you've got me away from the Manor? I can assure you that whatever disgusting plan you have, you will regret the day you ever thought you could-"

"Granger," he snarled suddenly, eyes focused on something over her shoulder. "I would love to sit here and listen to you shriek all day, but I need you to be _very quiet_ and cooperate until we've gotten ourselves a little farther away from the Manor, alright?"

He let go of her with one arm and seemed to reach for something as she looked over her shoulder, her eyes widening when she saw three men in Deatheater masks not far in the distance. She turned back to Malfoy in panic, wondering what his plan was, when he suddenly cursed very foully under his breath and held up two halves of a broken wand. She felt her heart plummet in her chest.

"Listen to me," he whispered fiercely, eyes trained on the figures behind her. "I can't disapparate wandlessly, and you can't attempt anything in the condition you're in. Our only chance of getting out of this alive is if you trust me and follow my lead. Can you do that?"

She looked at him with wide, terrified eyes, trying to force through the pain-induced haziness still plaguing her brain in order to properly assess her options. Malfoy had, for whatever reason, rescued her from his aunt's torture at the manor, though the details regarding his actual actions and motives were still unclear. And really, he was the lesser of two evils at this point- he didn't even have a wand, and if he was willing to attempt keeping her safe from the Deatheaters, she could always get away later if it really came down to it. She was much more adept at surviving without magic than he was, surely. It was likely that, were she to end up escaping from him in the woods, he wouldn't be able to find her again simply because he wouldn't know how to look for her without magic, or even find his way out of the forest.

"Okay," she decided, her voice quiet but strong as she met his eyes. "What do you need me to do?"


	2. Thinking on Your Feet

“Granger, stop it! Sit still.”

Hermione scowled, digging her nails into his forearms. “I am about to fall off this branch,” she hissed over her shoulder. “Either let me shift my balance or get ready to face three Death Eaters without a wand.”

She heard him grinding his teeth, but he loosened his arms slightly, and she wiggled carefully until she was more centered on the branch. Her sleeve was sticky against her injured arm; she hadn’t looked at it yet, but she knew it must still be bleeding. Through her clothing, she could feel Malfoy’s heat against her back, and his hands were clammy against hers.

They were high up in a tree, straddling the biggest branch they could find at this height. Malfoy had his back to the trunk and his legs wrapped around the branch like he would’ve with a broomstick. His arms were around her to keep her steady, as despite her best efforts she was shaking from being up so high. She was trying to keep her eyes focused blankly ahead; if she looked down she was afraid she would be sick.

“Are you sure he would’ve come here, Lucius?”

Hermione froze, and Malfoy tensed behind her. She didn’t recognize the voice below them, but he obviously did; his heart picked up erratically, and his breathing was harsh in her ear. Hermione closed her eyes, too afraid to look down, but she paid careful attention to the noises below her as she unconsciously tightened her hands on Malfoy’s forearms. He shifted, slowly and carefully, until one of his hands was resting comfortably over hers. She turned her hand over and pressed their palms together, lacing their fingers.

“He often uses the cabin as a refuge.” That was Lucius Malfoy, below them but slightly to their right, and Hermione heard the crunching of his boots on the underbrush as he moved away from the tree they were in. “Just because he wasn’t inside doesn’t mean he’s not somewhere nearby.”

“We’ve covered a mile radius around your ‘cabin’, Lucius.” Hermione could hear the sarcasm in the first voice. “My guess is the boy heard Walden stomping about and disapparated.”

“I’m not stomping about!” A third voice said indignantly, farther off to the right. “This is bollocks! The boy obviously isn’t here, and I’m sure the Mudblood’s long gone as well.”

“We don’t know that Draco helped the girl out of the Manor.” Lucius again, his voice tense. “He’s been under a lot of stress at the school-“

“Horseshit!” The original voice snorted. “Draco should have been having a ball with the Carrow twins. Face it, Lucius: your boy’s a coward, and a blood traitor to boot.”

Hermione saw a flash of light through her closed eyelids, and then a groan sounded from the forest floor.

“I don’t take kindly to insults against my heir, Rodolphus.” Lucius’ voice had gone deadly quiet. “I don’t care how much favor you’ve gained by letting the Dark Lord fuck your wife; if you insult a member of my family again, there will be much worse consequences.”

“Fuck you, Lucius.” The first voice- Rodolphus Lestrange, Hermione realized- sounded suddenly thick, like his nose was stuffed, and more than a little petulant. There was a shuffle and Hermione suspected he was picking himself up off the ground.

“Can we go?” Walden asked, impatient. “Obviously he’s not here. If you want, Lucius, we can check somewhere else, but I’ll be honest: I’m not overly motivated to find the kid.”

“We’ll go back to the Manor,” Lucius muttered. “I’ll send Severus an owl; maybe he picked Draco up in Hogsmeade.”

There were three successive _cracks!_ as the men disapparated back to the Manor. Even then, Hermione and Draco did not move for a very long time- Draco was too frozen with desperate relief and residual adrenaline, and Hermione couldn’t bring herself to brave the climb down just yet.

It took nearly half an hour for Hermione to work up the courage to even open her eyes. By then, Draco’s arms had lost most of their tension, and his heart had calmed. Still, his arms were around her waist, and he’d rested his forehead on her left shoulder. She realized she’d relaxed her entire weight against his chest, desperate for some kind of comfort, and their fingers were still entwined.

She suspected if she moved too fast, he would startle so violently they’d risk tumbling out of the tree. Carefully, she pulled her hand away from his and turned her face toward his. “Malfoy,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “Malfoy, we need to get down, and you have a lot of explaining to do.”

He sighed against her shoulder, but moved away from her until they were barely touching. Steeling herself, Hermione began the laborious process of making it back to solid ground, Malfoy close behind. When she’d been terrified of the Death Eaters, it had been relatively easy to force herself up into the tree with him. Now, with that threat no longer an immediate concern, it left her too much energy to focus on how high up they’d gone.

She felt her foot slip on the branch she’d just rested her weight on, and she shrieked in fear and pain as she lost her balance and fell several feet before catching her weight on a low branch by her armpits. She’d hit several branches on the way down; she felt blood dripping down her face from a spot on her temple, and her left forearm was screaming with renewed pain. To her horror, she felt herself start to sob, the salt of her tears stinging against the cuts and scrapes on her face.

“Merlin’s saggy- hold on, Granger.” Malfoy muttered to himself as he climbed down a few more branches before letting himself drop the last ten feet, rolling to help absorb the impact. He stood, brushing dirt off his robes with a look of distaste, before holding his arms up toward her. “Let go of the branch, Granger,” he said impatiently. “I’ll catch you.”

“I won’t,” she cried. “If you don’t catch me, I’ll break something.”

“I _will_ catch you.” Hermione wouldn’t look down, but his voice sounded strained, and she suspected he was scowling. “You just told me that I had some explaining to do, and I’m not going to talk to you while you’re hanging from a branch.”

She sobbed, not wanting to move, but her body was screaming in pain, except for her arms, which were now almost completely numb. She was making her fingers bloody digging into the bark. She knew, logically, that she had to get down from the tree, and the best way to do that was to just let herself drop; it was only about fifteen feet, and Malfoy was there to keep her from breaking an ankle. It was just the height, and, she was beginning to suspect, the residual emotional effects of the Cruciatus.

Malfoy seemed to realize this as well, as his voice took on a much more gentle tone. “It’s okay, Hermione,” he said, and the use of her given name was almost enough to startle her out of her crying fit. “I will not let you hurt yourself, I give you my word. Let’s just get you to the ground, and then we can talk, okay? I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

She took a deep, shaky breath, her arms starting to tremble. “Okay,” she gasped around hiccupping sobs. “Okay, I’m letting go.”

She squeezed her eyes shut as tight as she could, and focused solely on releasing her grip on the branch. It was a slow inching until all at once she was falling, and she didn’t even have time to scream before she was being cradled against Malfoy’s chest, his arms tight around her and her toes just barely touching the ground. She was still breathing hard, and she kept her eyes squeezed shut as he slowly lowered her fully to the ground. “It’s okay,” he murmured in her ear, stroking a hand soothingly down her back. “It’s okay, you’re safe. You’re on solid ground, and you’re safe.”

She pressed her nose into his neck, taking deep breaths and smelling his sweat and the barest hints of what was left of his cologne. Under it, there was a smell like cardamom, pomegranates, and the fragrance that she was familiar with bat’s wings giving off when she ground them up: sweet but tangy.

“You’ve been brewing veritaserum. I can smell it on you,” she murmured, 11/8 not stepping away. He nodded against her hair.

“Yes, I was in my potions lab when they brought you in,” he said just as quietly, and those words were enough to finally bring Hermione back to the manner at hand. She stepped back, dropping her arms from around him and looking him in the eye. His own gaze was steady, sure, and she suspected that whatever he was about to tell her, he had been ready to say long before she and Harry and Ron had been brought to the Manor.

“Why did you help me?” she asked suddenly. “Why did you get me out of the Manor? And where are Harry and Ron? Why didn’t you bring them, too?”

“Theodore Nott is with Potter,” he answered immediately, unfazed by her rapid questioning. He’d obviously been expecting it. “Pansy took Ron. I don’t know where they are, exactly, but everyone apparated out safely. I took you last.”

“But…” she frowned, “Why?”

He ran a hand through his hair, looking a little uncomfortable suddenly. “It’s…being a Death Eater isn’t really what I wanted, or expected,” he muttered. “Theo feels the same way. Pansy wasn’t Marked, but her father and older brother pull her into the mix whenever they get the chance. We’d been planning, discretely, to disappear for some time, and when I heard you three had been brought to the Manor…” he shrugged. “I Floo called Pansy, and Theo was already at the Manor when you arrived. When Pansy got there Theo brought her up to the hallway outside the drawing room and filled her in, so that when I left to get rid of the…um…well, when I left the room they were already there. And we just…improvised on the plan we already had mostly laid out.”

“Based on your history, I would’ve thought the Death Eaters were exactly what you would want.” Hermione’s voice had taken on a bitter edge. He scowled at her.

“I didn’t have to bring you along, Granger,” he snapped. “I could have just let you and Potter and the Weasel die in my drawing room while Theo, Pansy, and I made a clean getaway. But in the long run, who does that really benefit? Without you and the bloody Chosen One, I’m sure your precious Order wouldn’t have two brain cells to rub together.”

“My _precious Order_ has done more to fight for the right side of this war than you ever will!” This was deteriorating quickly. “You don’t get a free pass just because you realized saving our skins might keep you alive a little longer! While you’ve been at school, living it up and torturing first years no doubt, Harry and Ron and I have been suffering and hiding from _your_ friends and family!”

“And you think that somehow, this is all my fault?” He took a step closer again, until his nose might have been touching hers if he wasn’t so much taller than her. She had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes, and he dropped his chin to look at her. “News flash, Granger: You’re not the only one who’s been suffering this last year. Despite the fact that you obviously think me to be some vile, soulless wanker who doesn’t give a shit about anything, I actually _do_ have a moral compass, and as much as I might think Muggleborns and Muggles are a danger to our world, I don’t support the systematic genocide of them! I might have disliked Dumbledore, but do you think I honestly wanted to kill him? Do you think I ENJOYED watching the MUGGLE STUDIES PROFESSOR be murdered over my dining room table?! I have been doing _everything_ I thought I could get away with trying to protect you lot, and as thanks for sticking my neck out right in front of the Dark Lord, practically, you think I’m being a self-serving prick!”

“And just what exactly have you done?” Her hair had started to crackle dangerously; sparks were shooting off the ends sporadically. “Because from my end, and granted, my only source of news has been an old wireless in a tent, but it doesn’t seem like there have been any circumstances were there even _might_ have been some possibility of a Death Eater helping us out. Instead, I got to hear reports every day about other Muggleborns, or Muggles, or friends going missing and being killed.”

“Well, for starters, how about _not_ telling the Dark Lord when I knew you were at Grimmauld Place?”


	3. On Your Mind

“What do you know about Grimmauld Place?”

She couldn’t even stop herself long enough to think of the consequences of asking that question; all she knew was that Malfoy seemed to know something that he never should have had any information on. And she was going to find out what his sources were before possibly coming up with a way to incapacitate him for the foreseeable future, at least so that she could process the new information.

“Do you really think you would be standing here right now if there wasn’t someone on the inside keeping information away from the Dark Lord? The Order is some of the most daft, conspicuous witches and wizards I have ever seen. If it weren’t for the Dark Lord relying heavily on me, Theo, and Severus to extract information from our prisoners, you would be dead.” His tone was disdainful, and more than a little condescending when he mentioned the Order of the Phoenix, but somehow Hermione didn’t sense that he was lying to her- in fact, she suspected he was being wholly honest, answering all of her questions, just as he’d promised.

“But how could you have gotten any information on Grimmauld Place?” she pushed. “Very, very few individuals even knew we were staying there.”

“A group of snatchers caught that frumpy little fellow and brought him to the Manor, instead of the Ministry. I think his name was…Flint. Fungus. Fletcher. But I got the information from him, anyway, not that it mattered for very long- you and your bumbling idiots got into the Ministry only a few weeks later, and Yaxley managed to snag hold of you, I think, and followed you when you disapparated.”

“You knew we were at Grimmauld Place because of _Mundungus_?” Hermione swore violently. “I swear, if I ever see that vile rat again, I will hex him worse than I have ever hexed anybody for telling you our location-“

“He didn’t tell me, Granger.” Draco was back to looking slightly uncomfortable. “I…the Dark Lord has been weak, as of late, and there were too many prisoners coming through the Ministry and the Manor for him to question them all himself, but there aren’t many Death Eaters who are gifted in occlumency, let alone legilimency. So he had me and Theo, and sometimes Severus…” he trailed off at the look of horror dawning on her face.

“You’re a legilimens?” She asked carefully, suddenly breaking direct eye contact. He sighed heavily.

“I…yes, but I’m a more skilled occlumens. I can do legilimency without a wand, but not without the incantation; I’m still working on some areas of nonverbal magic.” He seemed to unconsciously scuff his toe in the dirt, and when he realized what he’d done he scowled vaguely at the dust on his boot. “It was more the occlumency that came in handy, anyway…I could hide specific bits of information from him, when he came for the intelligence I’d gathered, and he wasn’t ever suspicious that I wasn’t telling him the whole story.”

Hermione still wasn’t sure she wanted to make eye contact with him, but forced herself to look into his face as she rolled his words over in her head. He’d told her that he could cast a _legilimens_ without a wand, but not nonverbally; that meant there was only a small likelihood, if he was telling the truth, that he would be able to cast such a spell on her without her knowing. Of course, she supposed he could try it while she was sleeping, but she’d practiced some level of occlumency with Harry while Ron had been away- perhaps she’d gotten good enough at it to be able to keep Malfoy out, at least for a little while.

“I still feel as though I’m missing something,” she said finally. “Why would you risk keeping information away from Vol- from _him_ even when you knew that could risk your life? When did you start to want to defy him, anyway?”

“I don’t know that my reasons are very important at the moment,” he sniffed. “Perhaps we should focus on the more immediate issue of getting out of the forest without wands. Also- Granger, you’re still bleeding!”

His abrupt change of subject startled her, and she looked down a little numbly at the sleeve of her jumper, which had become completely soaked with blood. “Oh,” she said. “Yes. Bellatrix cut me.”

“She _cut you_?” His voice became very strained. “Listen to me, Granger. What did she cut you with? I need you to describe the object in as much detail as possible.”

“Well, I don’t quite remember,” she snapped, even as she began to feel dizzy again. “Given that I was under the affects for the Cruciatus for the majority of my time with her, and I wasn’t very focused on the detailing of the hilt of her knife!”

“It was a knife, though?” she nodded. “Silver? Black jewels in the grip and pommel? Curved blade?”

“I- yes. Yes, it looked like that.”

“Merlin’s bloody- Okay, Granger, we’re going to need to move this along a little bit quicker, than. We need to figure out a way to at least partially heal you until we can get to a safer location- I was shite at healing spells to begin with, but a wand would’ve been really bloody helpful right about now…”

“My bag!” Hermione doubled over to reach into her sock and nearly lost consciousness- it was only Malfoy catching her as she toppled over that saved her from face-planting in the dirt.

“Gods, woman! Have you gone delirious on me already?”

“No, no- my bag! It’s in my sock, I hid it there when we heard the snatchers- I have Essence of Dittany!”

Malfoy lowered her to sit against a tree trunk carefully, then reached toward her ankles and pulled her bag out of her sock. He loosened the strings and peeked inside, his eyes going wide at the contents.

“How did you manage- never mind, we can talk about it later. Granger, do me a favor and roll up your sleeves while I see if I can locate the Dittany…”

Hermione began to roll up her sleeves as he attempted a wandless _accio!_ He managed it on the second try, and only when he looked over at her with the bottle in his hand and all the blood drained out of his face that Hermione looked down at her own arm.

Her entire right forearm was swollen and purple, green in some places, and closer to her elbow it looked like she was already developing an infection. That wasn’t what made her turn and vomit into the underbrush beside her, though; it was the word _mudblood,_ carved crude and deep into the soft skin of her inner forearm with such a deep loathing that she could practically feel Bellatrix’s hatred radiating from it. Malfoy looked a bit like he wanted to be sick as well, but he managed to hold it together even while looking deathly pale.

“I’m sorry, Granger, I’m sorry, but you have to hold your arm steady. There isn’t much left in the bottle and I want to make sure we get all the bad areas first,” he murmured, anguish written all over his face as he carefully uncorked the bottle and pulled out the stopper. “Please, Granger, just hold your arm steady for a few moments.”

She had begun to cry again, mostly from pure emotional exhaustion, but she still winced at the sting and the sound of sizzling skin as the first drop of Dittany hit her arm. Malfoy concentrated most of the solution on the actual cuts, as that was where all the other damage originated from, but he also made sure to let two drops fall into the curve of her elbow. She winced and hiccupped with every drop that hit her skin, but she kept her arm mostly still as he worked in silence.

“Don’t use any more,” she told him when she noticed they were down to about an eighth of the bottle. “We might need it later.”

“It was a hexed dagger, Granger. I haven’t used enough Dittany to stop any major scarring, only enough to kill the infection.”

“Then that will have to do until we can find some other way to heal it. That’s the only bottle of Dittany we have, and I’m not going to waste all of it just to stop some superficial scarring.”

“If it doesn’t heal properly, not only will that word be stuck on your arm forever, but you could lose the use of your fingers as well. How do you think you’ll hold a wand if you can’t move your fingers, Granger?” His voice was still strained, but a hint of exasperated anger had crept in as well. Hermione scowled at him.

“I’m right handed anyway, and we don’t have time for this. I thought you said we needed to get to a safer location.”

“Well yes, I had a perfectly good safe house all picked out, but now that we have no wands…” he ran a hand through his hair with a significant amount of agitation, and Hermione was struck with how much the motion reminded her of Harry. “It’s too far to walk, and to be honest, I’m not even sure what direction we would start in…”

“Did you have any sort of plan when you disapparated with us?” she demanded. “Or did you and Parkinson and Nott just think you would wing it once you left the Manor?”

“ _Obviously_ we had a plan,” he snapped. “But it all went to shit when the bloody Golden Trio showed up on my doorstep and needed rescuing, now didn’t it? Not to mention that I expected to have a bloody _fucking wand_ -“

“There are more important things than wands when it comes to survival, Malfoy! If you don’t know how to get us out of this bloody forest, then we’ll have to make due until we can figure out which way we need to travel.” The Dittany was already helping her feel better, despite her arm still feeling a bit like lead. She reached over and took her bag out of his hands, peering inside.

“Shit, the tent is back where we were staying… but I have three changes of clothes, and some of Harry’s and Ron’s things as well, so I suppose we can see if anything fits you. All the books, except for my copies of _Spellman’s Syllabary_ and _Break with a Banshee_ , but those aren’t of vital importance, anyway. Three vials of Polyjuice, two of Pepper-Up Potion, one bottle of Skele-Gro and a small vial of veritaserum, plus what we have left of the Dittany… assorted potions ingredients, but nothing that could make anything very helpful, and one full canteen of water.”

“Well, at least we have all your bloody _books_ ,” Malfoy muttered. “ _Those_ will help keep us warm in the brisk April nights!”

“Well, it wasn’t as if I had time to pack everything before the Snatchers chased us through the forest!” she huffed. “At least we have something! We could have been completely- wait!” She dug through the bag again, pushing things aside desperately and her arm disappearing nearly to her shoulder and she felt around. Malfoy looked mildly concerned at her behavior, but mostly as if he were resigning himself to the fact that he could very well soon be on his own. She briefly rolled her eyes and then, with a cry of success, pulled a mass of shimmery fabric out from the depths of the bag.

“Oh, we’re so lucky! I couldn’t remember if I’d left it on the table or not, but I must have put it back in the bag at some stage last evening!”

“Is that an invisibility cloak?” Malfoy’s eyebrows had disappeared into his hairline, and he was looking between her, the bag, and the cloak with a completely stunned look on his face. “Merlin, Granger, what don’t you have access to? Are you about to pull the bloody Philosopher’s Stone out of there, too?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said primly. “Nicholas Flamel destroyed his Stone after our first year at Hogwarts, and that was the only known Philosopher’s Stone in existence. But you understand, don’t you Malfoy? At least now we have a chance to make it out of this forest without being caught by any Deatheaters!”

“Yes,” he said. “Right. And just how, exactly, are we going to manage to find our way out?”


End file.
